The Rebellion in District 6
by CrackLogic
Summary: District 6 doesn't get a lot of credit, but they have a lot of potential as they are the transportation district. Skyler is the daughter of a conductor and a baggage carrier.


Fights were easy to get into. Getting out of them was another thing. I slammed into the dumpster and slumped to the ground. His foot slammed into my side and I shifted from the impact. Pain stabbed my side and I groaned.

He snickered, "Next time you'll pay me, whore."

He kicked me again for good measure and ran off through the alleys. Despite Zack's clever nickname, my name was not whore, it was Skyler. I pushed myself to my knees and leaned back against the dumpster. I held my side where it throbbed in pain. The dirt was numbing my knees with cold. I watched my breath come in puffs of steam on the cold day. Birds sang as they flew over the small gap between tall dark buildings. Bricks lay on the ground beside me from where they had fallen off the old buildings. When I smelled the smoke I finally stood, knowing all too well what that smell was. Everyone would be locked in their homes soon and I could get in trouble for staying out. I slipped down the alley, not wanting to follow my attacker. It wasn't like he would fight me where the peacekeepers would see, but it was better to stay safe. I trudged through the streets, heading for the warmth of home. The wind whipped my face, blowing the scent of the smoke. It wasn't only wood they were burning. I walked towards the source of the smoke, trying not to look too curious. I rounded one corner and assessed the situation in seconds to see if I knew them. Three peacekeepers were handcuffing an unfamiliar couple outside a home. Another peacekeeper was using his blowtorch on their already burning house. The smell told me that these two had been growers. Peacekeepers thought they were doing good by occasionally burning down the homes of these types of people, but in reality, they were doing nothing to the thousands who, like them, were selling some sort of substance to get by. It was unavoidable though, the average wage of those who worked for transportation was not good enough to own a house.

I could see one of them staring directly at me, only encouraging me to leave more quickly. I turned and slunk away, using extra caution to appear casual. Walking through the streets, I could see a few kids that were playing with toys being called inside by their mother. Their mother knew the smell of the burning houses and what it meant. The children might not understand yet, but they would soon. My brick house greeted me among all the others. The concrete steps of my house were broken familiarly as I skipped up them. Our mailbox had a slim piece of paper folded neatly inside. I snatched it out and sighed. It was another list. The door creaked welcomingly and the inside smelled nothing like that of the outside world. It smelled like the warm soup father was cooking on the stove and the wood burner that was spilling heat into the room. We were growers in our own respect, nearly everyone had to be. We had our own garden of sorts in the back of our house. There were enough weeds that no one would notice a few more. Onions, potatoes, and asparagus could easily be grown without the peacekeepers getting suspicious.

Alfalfa bread and onion soup was our feast tonight. Father saw me when I entered the kitchen, waving the list in my hand. He snatched it out of my hands and crumpled it. He tossed it into the wood burner. We didn't take lists from just anyone anymore, smuggling had become too dangerous of an occupation.

Father pulled out two bowls, ladling soup into them. He handed me one of the bowls, warm in my hands. I sat at the table, beginning to eat. He sat down across from me, starting in on the soup.

He cleared his throat, "So how was your day?"

I pointed to the black eye I could feel forming around the right side of my face.

He smirked, "How'd you get that?"

"Same as usual, I didn't pay them for smuggling." I shrugged.

"What did they bring you this time?" he asked with a laugh.

I slipped a pair of thick work gloves out of my bag, "For when I'm welding."

"Sky, you're more resourceful than Titus," Father laughed shaking his head.

I beamed. I had been working on building us a generator from some scrap metal I bought off the mechanics. It wasn't hard to do, and besides, it would allow us to have some electricity at night when they turned it off. That way we would be able to keep our frozen foods frozen better.

"I'm leaving for District 4 tomorrow. I should be back in a couple days." Father said as he took a bite of his bread.

"I figured it was about time," I shrugged.

Father was a conductor on trains and hovercrafts that transported things across Panem. Adding together the money he made as a conductor and what he made smuggling for the victors of our District, we got by quite easily. We didn't have to hope for someone to drop a list into our mailbox anymore. We didn't really have to worry about being caught and turned to avoxes either, victors would never get caught being smuggled morphine from the capital.

He sighed, "I know it's a nuisance for me to be gone all the time, but it isn't so bad. I'm just thrilled we get to be together."

He smiled, as if he wasn't reminding me that it was just us from now on. That together was never going to include my mother anymore. I almost wanted to thank him for bringing it up, but before I could he was looking at his watch and cursing.

"I'm late for my seminar." He stood, kissing my forehead and carrying his bowl to the sink.

I sighed, "What's the seminar on this time?"

He pulled on his boots and zipped them up, "It's the same seminar we have to take every time we're transporting weapons."

I groaned and rolled my eyes. When Father was transporting weapons they had to use hovercrafts instead of trains, it was safer supposedly. There were less opportunities for anyone to sabotage the hovercrafts.

Father slipped his coat on, "I'm not thrilled about it either. I'll be home in a couple hours."

His coat was almost on when there was a sharp knock. We locked eyes. He motioned for me to stay, then marched to the door as he buttoned up his coat. He pulled it open to see a peacekeeper standing there.

"We're in lockdown so anyone who needs to go to the seminar is being escorted by a peacekeeper." the peacekeeper explained.

Father nodded in understanding and waved to me before following the peacekeeper out the door.

I stamped up the stairs into my room. With my new gloves I sat down in front of what was to be a generator. It would charge during the day, collecting sunlight from my room window. It wasn't a lot of sunlight, but it was enough to run a freezer at night. That way we could stock up on meat for much longer than a week.

Father's arrival was loud and disgruntled. I could tell by the way he was stomping around. I set down the two pieces of wiring I was trying to fit together and peeked downstairs. Father was throwing wood into the burner in the living room. I walked downstairs and sat in the cushioned chair behind him. Father didn't have to turn to see me.

"There's been another explosion. They think that it's related to," his voice cracked, "the last one. We're going to be transporting weapons and things."

"Baggage carriers don't really care about their jobs I suppose. They have to keep up their reputation." I shrugged.

He looked back at me, his eyes narrow, daring me to say any more.

"Have you ever heard of a baggage carrier who was a decent human being?"

He scoffed. "You didn't know anything about your mother."

"She was a baggage carrier. You can't ignore that she smuggled, whether you want to or not."

"She was your mother and she loved you. That's all either of us need to remember."

I rolled my eyes. "That's not all there was to her life though, that she loved us. If you want me to leave you along about her, then tell me how it happened. She was a baggage carrier for years, she was trained to transport weapons even when they were touchy. So how did that one explode unless she allowed it to?"

"Why would she allow one to explode?" Father snapped at me.

"She was married to someone who refused to get a job. She was waiting for lists to be dropped off so she could make enough cash to raise her daughter. She was forced to smuggle for growers and come home worrying that the next day she would be taken by peacekeepers and turned into an avox for smuggling. Her life wasn't perfect and how dare you ever suggest it was. Do not romanticize her life." I spat.

Father growled, "You make it seem like we were never there for her."

"How could we be? You were drunk. I didn't really know what was going on. We weren't, and it wasn't like she was asking for help either."

"Just get out of my face." He said turning back to the wood burner.

What I said began to sink in, so I left, not wanting to make it any worse. That night when the electricity had been turned off and I lay on my bed, staring out the window, it was almost like I could trick myself into thinking that Mother was downstairs, just coming in from her late night escapades. It was almost like I could imagine her coming up into my room again, kissing me on the forehead, and leaving with a whispered good night. It wasn't until the wet spot on my pillow turned cold that I realized I had been crying.


End file.
